


When Chasing a Mini Cat, Please Remember to Watch Your Cape

by hey_its_lyn



Series: Being Called "Catboy" Qualifies as Cruel and Unusual Punishment [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bruce Wayne's C+ Parenting, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Panic Attacks, In this house we love Alfred Pennyworth, It goes really well, Jack and Janet Drake's A+ Parenting, Jason Todd is Robin, Protective Jason Todd, Rated teen for swearing, Somewhat liberal use of the f-bomb, Tim Drake is Catlad | Stray, Until he ruins it, he tries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23783869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hey_its_lyn/pseuds/hey_its_lyn
Summary: Jason Todd finds the oddest high society child he's ever met at the annual Gotham Museum of Arts Gala, hiding behind a pair of curtains.If he almost breaks the poor boy's nose in the school library a few weeks later, well, it was an accident after all.Chasing down Catwoman's new apprentice as Robin, however? No, that's not an accident at all. That's an obligation.
Relationships: Barbara Gordon & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Referenced Tim Drake & Selina Kyle, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Series: Being Called "Catboy" Qualifies as Cruel and Unusual Punishment [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713424
Comments: 28
Kudos: 919





	When Chasing a Mini Cat, Please Remember to Watch Your Cape

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be 5,000 words max. Just Jason figuring out who exactly who the boy next door is. Now it's two a.m., I haven't slept properly in days, and this has undergone exactly one read through before being posted. I need to learn some self-control.
> 
> The teen rating is solely for language. I'm tired, so Jason is going to swear like a sailor because he's a Gotham street kid. Somewhat liberal use of the f-bomb.

Jason ducks out from Brucie Wayne’s reach not even an hour into the godawful gala.

He weaves in and out of the high society crowd, keeping his face down as he searches the banquet hall for somewhere to hide out until the stupid thing is over. No one pays attention to him, and the few who recognize him as Brucie Wayne’s second adopted orphan give him a wide berth.

Jason doesn’t mind. He wonders if it was this bad for Dick at first, before he grew into himself and found himself able to charm the ladies who used to sneer at him behind his back.

 _The circus freak and the street rat._ Jason shakes his head at the thought. _Brucie sure knows how to pick them._

Jason eventually finds his way over to a secluded corner, where deep burgundy drapes hide doors to what Jason assumes is one of the closed exhibits. The lights don’t quite reach over here, and Jason knows it’s the perfect place to avoid any more sneers and overly enthusiastic fake smiles. He frowns when he realizes that someone else must have had the same idea as him.

A small boy is sequestered between the wall and the edge of the drapes, eyes trained on the phone clutched tightly between his fingers. Jason goes to make his way back through the crowd to find another spot to hide.

High society adults are a bitch to deal with, but their kids are usually ten times worse. No filter and no poker face to hide their true feelings. Jason’s already half spun around, ready to skip out before the boy recognizes him, but then the boy goes stiff, phone halfway to disappearing into his pocket as he lifts his eyes.

“I apologize for leaving the gala unattended—oh.” The boy blinks at him, eyes bright blue as they flicker with something Jason can’t discern. Based on the smudge of concealer that’s a shade too dark for his skin, the kid is supporting dark circles from lack of sleep. “You’re not my mother.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Nah, kid. I’m not your mom.”

“Sorry,” the boy says, and Jason is tempted to raise an eyebrow.

“You got nothin’ ta apologize for.”

The boy shrugs. His eyes flicker over Jason’s shoulder. “You don’t have to find somewhere else to hide,” he says. “I should probably get back to the gala before my mother finds out how long I’ve been away. I just couldn’t deal with Mrs. Whitmore telling me what a good host I am and pinching my cheeks for another fifteen minutes.”

“Can’t say I blame ya,” Jason snorts. “And did you say ‘host’?”

“Yeah,” the boy winces. “I’m Timothy Drake. My parents sponsored the gala tonight and donated to the museum’s new exhibit. I’m kind of supposed to be sucking up to the guests right now. Showing them that I’m a responsible and mature Drake heir and everything.”

“Sounds like a blast.”

“Hardly.”

The boy, Timothy, glances around Jason’s shoulder again. He shrinks back, ducking partially behind the curtains when he catches sight of someone from the crowd behind them. Jason laughs.

“Who’d you see?”

Tim glances at him, eyes slightly wide, as though he’s surprised that Jason’s still there. “Oh, uh, Mr. Miller. He’s a member of Drake Industries’ board. Always been a bit… Well, he enjoys his champagne.”

Jason fights back a scowl. “I see.”

“Yeah…” Tim comes back out from the drapes. “Want some caramels?”

“What?”

“Caramels.” Tim reaches into the pocket of his blazer, pulling out a little baggy of caramels. He holds them out. “I always sneak food in when I can. I can’t stand hors d'oeuvres.”

Jason hesitantly takes a caramel, waiting until Timothy pops one into his own mouth before unwrapping the sweet and sucking on it. It’s one of the ones people get at the corner store, the kind his mom used to get him on his birthday when they had the money for some sweets, but not enough for a cake.

“Thanks.”

Tim shrugs. “Any time.”

Jason finds himself not running away from the boy like he planned to. Timothy is surprisingly down to Earth, unlike many of the other society kids he’s already met. Timothy hates the suit and the galas and the cheek-pinchers, but he also hates the snootiness and the gossip and the backhanded compliments. When they’re talking about favorite food, and Tim mentions that his favorite restaurant is a place called Nena’s, Jason’s brain nearly short circuits.

Nena’s is a tiny, dingy café in Little Italy. The type where the tile’s cracked and stained, but the food is good and the staff is always willing to slide a little extra onto the skinny kid’s plate. Jason knows because he sometimes stops there during patrol. It’s not anywhere near where any society kid would be hanging out.

Well, any normal society kid.

Jason finds himself chatting with Timothy for a good thirty minutes, stepping in front of him and hiding him from view when the society ladies begin to make their way over to him, probably planning to whisk him away from Brucie’s newest orphan. Timothy’s chatty once he opens up, much different from the stilted boy who he first speaks with.

Jason quickly learns that he’s interested in photography (though for some reason, the kid’s ears go a bit red when he admits it) and proves to be smart as a whip when he begins rattling on about the unrealistic physics of Star Wars and then explains just why it’s unrealistic. Jason smiles despite himself.

But then the kid’s eyes go sharp, gaze narrowing in the direction of the museum doors.

“I’m really sorry,” Timothy says suddenly, cutting off his explanation of just how someone as young as him has taken an interest in computers and coding, “but someone I know is leaving and I need to go say goodbye. It was nice talking to you!”

And just like that, the kid darts away.

Jason watches him go, only somewhat surprised at the ease Timothy is able to weave in and out of the crowds with. It reminds Jason of the pickpockets on the street, the good ones who no one ever sees coming or notices once they’ve gone. If he quirks a smile and shakes his head in amusement, well, no one else has to know.

/\/\/\

Jason finds himself in the library during his study hall, looking for a reference book for his civics essay that’s due at the end of next week. Any book he wants to read, Alfred has in the library at Wayne Manor. But unfortunately, Jason is stuck looking for some stupid philosophical book about the ethics of politics.

Because there are any ethics when it comes to politicians. Sure.

He finds the book on the bottom shelf in the far corner of the library, the corner where no one ever ventures because all that’s back there are stupid philosophical essays and pamphlets. Jason makes his way to his feet, rolling back onto his heels as his knees scream. He bites back a wince. Yeah, better not to do the dramatic land-on-one-knee-and-rise-menacingly-to-your-feet-as-your-cape-billows-behind-you thing until his balance and tumbling gets a little better. Bruised knees hurt. Batman had told him he was lucky his left knee wasn’t dislocated.

Jason spins on his heel, going to grab his backpack and scram when he backs into something, hearing a squeak and a small thump. He turns around, blinking when he finds no one standing behind him. When Jason glances down, his brows raise until they’ve nearly reached his hairline.

“Timothy?”

Because little Timothy Drake from the gala a few weeks ago, who hid behind the drapes (and maybe Jason shielded him from view when he got particularly tense, but no one needs to know that) and apparently sneaks into Little Italy, is sprawled across the library floor, a stack of books spilled across his lap and onto the floor as he rubs at his nose.

“Sorry,” he squeaks, voice nasally as he carefully holds his nose.

“Oh, shit,” Jason kneels down. “Are you okay?”

“M’fine.”

Jason frowns, pulling Tim’s hand away from his nose. He winces when he sees the red smudging Timothy’s hand and lips.

“Shit, you’re bleeding.”

Timothy glances down at his hand. “Huh, guess I am.”

Jason rolls his eyes, dragging his backpack to his side and pulling out a package of Kleenex. “Here,” he says, handing them to Timothy. “Tilt your head down. People are lyin’ when they tell ya to tilt your head back.”

Timothy hums, doing as told. Jason gathers his dropped books and sets them in a pile on the floor.

“Tim’s fine,” the boy says, voice slightly muffled from the tissue.

“Huh?”

“Call me Tim, please,” Tim says, folding the Kleenex to make it thicker as the blood seeps through the tissue.

“Sure thing. Sorry I knocked ya over.”

Tim waves a hand. “It’s my own fault,” he says. “Should have watched where I was going. Your back was turned.”

“Still,” Jason shrugs. “Didn’t mean ta knock ya over. God, you’re skin and bones.”

Tim frowns, and it’s somewhere between a pout and a glower. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

Holding the tissue to his nose, Tim pushes himself onto his knees, going to grab his stack of books and his backpack. Jason gets there before he can.

“I got ‘em,” he says, pulling the books into his arms as he makes his way to his feet. “Get your bag and I’ll carry them ta the desk before ya go ta the nurse.”

Tim looks at him oddly, eyes narrowed and lips pinched. Finally, he relents, pulling his bag across his shoulders and ambling to his feet. Jason can’t help but notice the smooth transition from his knees to his feet. It’s not something he would expect from someone seemingly as clumsy as Tim. But then again, he moved like that at the gala too. Jason shrugs it off. Probably side effect of being raised in the high society.

Jason barely remembers to grab his own book before he and Tim are making their way towards the checkout desk. Looking at Tim from the corner of his eyes, he notices again just how small the boy is. He doesn’t even come up to Jason’s shoulder.

“I didn’t know you went to school here,” he says.

Tim glances up at him. “We’re neighbors,” he says. “We’re zoned to the same district.”

Jason shrugs. “Still. Thought maybe your parents had ya in private school or somethin’.”

“They were going to.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. They had me in district for kindergarten, but when I got bumped up to second grade, the private schools weren’t going to let me transfer in outside my grade level. So, they kept me in district so I wouldn’t be bumped back down.”

Jason nods along to the kid’s words, freezing when he makes sense of them. “Wait, what?”

Tim looks at him with that odd look again. Like he’s appraising him or something.

“I skipped my first two years of school. Went to second grade after the first quarter ended when I was in kindergarten.”

“What?”

Tim glares at him. “Yes,” he says, and it sounds almost like a hiss. “I’m a smart ass. My parents want me in private school or boarding school, but they want me ahead of my agemates more. Sounds better to say I graduated at 15 instead of saying I went through a private school that anyone with money can go to.”

Jason whistles lowly. “Hot damn, Tim.”

Before either of them can say anything else, they arrive at the checkout desk. Mrs. Lillins, the librarian, looks up from her computer and gasps. “Tim!”

“Hello, Mrs. Lillins,” Tim says dryly.

“My lord, your nose! What happened?” She looks at Jason and glares. “Mr. Wayne—”

Jason bristles, but Tim steps in front of him.

“I was a bit of a klutz again. You know how I am. I ran right into his back when I wasn’t looking. Caught his shoulder just right, and I’ve had a dry nose with the winter.”

Mrs. Lillins frowns, obvious she doesn’t believe them. “You give me those books then go straight to the nurse, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tim says.

Jason drops Tim’s books on the desk, standing back as they’re checked out then shuffled into his bag. Once Tim’s done, Jason steps up and hands Mrs. Lillins is own book. She glares at him as she checks it out, handing it back the moment she’s done.

Jason barely stops from baring his teeth and making a smart comment. Mrs. Anderson, the other librarian, is a kind older woman who’s always recommending him books she thinks he’ll like, and she nearly cries every time she sees him carrying an Austen. Lillins just glares and gossips.

“I’ll walk ya to the nurse,” Jason offers, once they’ve stepped away from the desk.

“You don’t have to,” Tim says, giving him that stupid look for the third damned time. “It’s not your fault.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jason says. “Come on.”

/\/\/\

The end of the year creeps closer and closer, but to Jason it feels as though time is set at .05 speed with an occasional rewind. School is monotonous and boring. Some teachers love him, like his English teacher. Others sniff at his name whenever they say it. Some pointedly call him Mr. Wayne instead of Jason Todd and it drives him up a wall.

He bumps into Tim occasionally, mostly when they’re both in the library during their study hall. Sometimes they’ll eat lunch together if they’re nearby, but for the most part, their class schedule keeps them apart.

Jason focuses on Robin, improves his balance and acrobatics. He’ll never be the type of Robin that Dick was, but he’s quickly learning his own style, finding something that feels right for him, not like he’s borrowing someone else’s clothes.

When summer finally hits, Jason can’t he happier to leave the school behind, even if it means he has to catch a ride back to the manor with Dick on his Ducati. The first Robin is still an asshole to him, even when he claims that he’s trying to be nicer. Nightwing’s in town to take care of an underground gambling ring with Batman, so Jason grits his teeth and puts up with him.

While he and Batman are busy, it means that Jason gets to do more solo patrols, even if he’s limited to some of the nicer areas of Gotham.

It’s the last week of June and Robin feels like he’s flying.

He stops three muggings, maybe breaks a misbehaving john’s nose when he gets a little rough with one of the girls on the edge of the Bowery, and even takes down a wannabe rogue by himself. The guy is dressed in pajamas and a Halloween mask, so it isn’t really that hard, but it is still satisfying to drop him on GCPD’s doorstep.

Robin’s just about to fly out towards Robinson Park to get a chili dog when he sees them.

A small figure is sitting on the edge of a rooftop, legs swinging below them as they gaze at the apartment building across the street. Jason recognizes it as one of the upper-class apartment complexes, where a lot of lawyers and division managers live.

Robin silently makes his way towards the figure, eyes narrowed behind his domino. Once he’s on the same building, crouched behind a rumbling AC unit, he gets a better look at the figure.

They’re smaller than he thought, and they look like a boy, but he can’t be sure. Could just be a younger girl. They’re dressed completely in black, hood resting around their neck and what looks like… cat ears on the top of their head? If this is some Catwoman wannabe, he’s gonna scream. Give a stern talking to and send them home to mommy first, but then scream.

Robin stands, rolling his eyes and strolling over until he’s standing a few feet behind the figure.

“Oi,” he calls. “Aint it past your bedtime, squirt?”

The figure doesn’t even flinch at his voice. Instead, they look over their shoulder, expression bored and eyes hidden behind a black domino like his own. They’re definitely a boy, either really young or really scrawny. He can’t tell without seeing his face.

“I was wondering when you’d come out from behind there,” the boy says, and Jason takes pause at the voice.

Definitely young then, and oddly familiar sounding.

“Yeah, when I saw you’re just a twig, I figured there was no point ta sneakin’ around.” Robin levels an unimpressed look in his direction. “Come on, kid. Aren’t your parents gonna wonder where ya are?”

The boy scowls at that, his feet ceasing their swinging. “Nope,” he says, voice flat.

Sore spot then.

Robin takes a moment to observe the boy closer. The longer he looks, the less he likes what he sees. The suit is professionally made, and there’s a whip on his hip and what looks like a holster on his thigh. The goggles look computerized, and the get up is too close to Catwoman’s to be a coincidence.

“Finally figured it out?” the boy asks.

Robin glares. “When’d Catwoman pick up a kitten?”

The boy shrugs lazily. “Mmh. Not your business, I think.”

“Look, kid. I don’t think ya realize what you’re doin’—”

“Oh hush,” the boy cuts him off. “Don’t do that.”

Robin grits his teeth. “Do what?”

“Be a hypocrite.”

“A what?!”

The boy looks bored again. “You heard me. Don’t nitpick me when you’re out here too. At least I’m wearing pants.”

Robin feels the tips of his ears flush, and he can’t decide if it’s embarrassment or anger that causes it. “Look here, it’s late and someone your age has no place bein’ out—”

“Hypocrite.”

“If you’d listen—”

“Hyp-o-crite.”

Robin snarls. The boy moves swiftly to his feet, turning to face Robin and putting his hands on his hips.

“Come now, I’m not alone out here. Cat’s around here somewhere.”

“Good, that means she an’ I can have a talk ‘bout proper parenting.”

The boy snorts. “Sure thing,” he says, amusement clear. “I’m sure she’ll shoot your lecture right back at you. I don’t see Batman around anywhere either, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to be going now.”

The boy offers a mocking salute before turning around and jumping from the side of the building. Robin rushes after him, heart thudding in his chest, even when he sees the boy swinging from the building on a grappling line.

He debates going after him for about ten seconds before he grits his teeth and sets back out for the Cave. Batman’s always telling him to think before he acts, and he has some questions he wants answered before he goes chasing a tiny cat around Gotham.

/\/\/\

Over the next two weeks, Robin makes it his mission to track the small boy across Gotham. He never catches a name, but he refers to him as Mini Cat in his head.

Mini Cat isn’t out every night, and when he is, he’s almost always plastered to Catwoman’s side or watching her from a rooftop or two away. Knowing Catwoman’s tendency to spot bats at the worst times (and the knack any mask has for knowing they’re being followed), Robin’s forced to keep his distance and observe from afar. He has to duck behind dumpsters and chimneys multiple times when Catwoman looks in his direction.

Robin can’t tell if she knows he’s there or not. It’s annoying, and if he keeps coming back to the Cave covered in soot and smelling of trash, Agent A is going to kill him, then bring him back so he can wash his own suit.

He quickly finds that Mini Cat seems to know what he’s doing. He moves across rooftops like he’s been doing it for years, and he watches Catwoman with rapt attention. It looks like they keep in contact through a comm system, and Mini Cat speaks often, softly and care free. A few times he laughs and shakes his head, and Robin assumes that he and Catwoman keep a semi-regular stream of chatter between them.

As he watches, Robin tries to guess the boy’s age. Mini Cat is tiny. He’s not frail exactly, but his body type isn’t quite like Nightwing’s lithe physique either. He’s skinny, but doesn’t look to be underfed. Maybe, Robin admits grudgingly, Mini Cat is just naturally small.

Distractedly, Robin thinks of Tim, the boy from the gala who he knocks over that day in the library. Tim’s ten, if he remembers correctly, but he’s small enough that most people assume he’s eight. It’s possible Mini Cat is like Tim and is just one of those people who don’t hit their growth spurt until high school.

Still, something doesn’t sit right watching someone that young jumping around Gotham at night. Maybe it’s hypocritical like Mini Cat said, but Robin has seen what Gotham streets do to kids who venture out at night. And maybe Mini Cat has Catwoman to keep him safe, but she won’t be there forever.

So, Robin sits crouched on a balcony of an apartment complex in the midst of repairs caused by Poison Ivy’s last tantrum about Harley refusing to leave the Joker, watching Mini Cat jump from roof to roof across the street. He moves easily through the air, landing deftly and silently, boots barely settling before he takes off once more. Mini Cat moves as though he was made to be in the sky, and it makes something in Robin’s gut twist.

He follows Mini Cat, keeping a healthy distance between them to avoid being seen. Robin doesn’t see Catwoman around, but he doesn’t want to let his guard down only to be swept off his feet.

Mini Cat moves through Otisburg, heading towards Coventry. He seems at ease, though moving quickly and carefully. As Mini Cat leaps across a particularly wide alley, Robin presses his lips together. That jump is risky without a grapple, and Mini Cat shows no hint of drawing his grapple gun.

Robin shouts in surprise when Mini Cat comes up short, missing the next roof by nearly three feet. He falls. Robin sprints towards the roof where Mini Cat first jumped, ignoring his plans to remain unseen, using his grapple to lower himself into the alley. He lets go of his line sooner than he probably should, dropping the last several feet to the ground. His boots hit the street, and Robin whirls around.

He doesn’t see Mini Cat.

The small boy is nowhere to be found. Where he should be splattered against the ground from a three-story drop, all Robin sees is trashcans and rotting cardboard boxes. Confusion and concern crash over him in waves as he frantically searches for the boy.

Robin freezes when he hears a soft laugh from above him. He looks up, relief washing through him when he sees Mini Cat hanging upside down from a rusty fire escape. Once he sees the boy’s smile, the relief is replaced with anger.

“What the hell was that?!”

Mini Cat blinks innocently. His hood covers his head, goggles placed over his eyes like a mask as his dark hair peeks out of the hood, swaying in the breeze.

“You tell me,” Mini Cat says.

Robin snarls. “Looks ta me that ya were tryin’ ta make a jump ya knew ya couldn’t make.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t been following me, I wouldn’t have had to surprise you.”

“You’re such a’ idiot! Ya could’ve seriously been hurt, and for what? Ta catch ma attention?”

Mini Cat huffs. “Don’t be so dramatic. Cat wouldn’t let me out if I couldn’t even judge distances between roofops. I’m not stupid.”

“Apparently you’re not that smart, either,” Robin says, shoulders tense.

Mini Cat swings back and forth from where he hangs from the fire escape, using the momentum to flip himself over, landing easily on the balls of his feet. Rolling back onto his heels, Mini Cat crosses his arms.

“What do you want?” Mini Cat asks.

“Just doin’ some surveillance an’ all.”

“That’s a crap excuse. Totally obvious it’s a lie.”

Robin sets his hands on his hips. Suddenly, he knows how Nightwing must feel every time he does something reckless.

“I’m makin’ sure ya don’t get yourself killed,” Robin eventually says. “Where’s mama cat? She start leavin’ ya on your own already?”

Mini Cat’s face is blank. “I’m not sure that’s any of your business.”

“Look kid,” Robin sighs, “I know ya don’t wanna hear this, but bein’ out like this? It’s dangerous. Really dangerous. Mama cat won’t be there forever.”

“Well, obviously,” Mini Cat says. “I don’t expect her to be. After all, you’re out here by yourself, aren’t you? Where’s Batman?”

“None ya business.”

Mini Cat smiles. “There you go. None of your business.”

Robin barely holds back a smart remark. He bites the inside of his cheek, thinking over what he’s going to say, when Mini Cat surprises him.

“Well,” he says, “if that’s all, I’m gonna be off. Cat’s probably waiting up.”

Robin doesn’t have time to react before Mini Cat is launching at him, using his shoulders as a step up to leap up onto the balcony. He quickly scales the side of the building. Robin splutters in shock as Mini Cat makes it to the roof in under thirty seconds, giving him a cheeky smile and a mock salute before he ducks away. Robin can hear the call of “Tootles!” echoing in his ear as he scrambles to follow the other boy.

The ensuing chase is utter chaos.

Mini Cat leads them through Coventry, cutting through Gotham Proper, popping into Robinson Park, and making it into the East End. Robin knows that East End is Catwoman’s territory. Mini Cat is sure to know this area better than the other parts of Gotham.

Robin has more experience, is likely in better physical shape than Mini Cat, but Mini Cat is small and fast. He can duck into allies and climb fire escapes that will never hold Robin’s weight. His feet barely make contact with the ground as Mini Cat races throughout the city, Robin on Mini Cat’s heels the entire time.

Mini Cat makes a move as though he’s heading for Little Italy, and Robin is just about to grab the little pain in the ass by the hood when the boy twists out of his grip and trips Robin with his own cape. Robin lands hard on his ass, spluttering in shock. Mini Cat stares down at him with a grin on his face.

“It’s been fun,” he says, “but I’m afraid I’m feeling a bit tired. Cat will be expecting me by now. See you!”

Robin can only watch as the boy disappears into the shadows, leaving him behind on the roof, cape tangled in some type of crumbling metal grates. Mini Cat is gone, and Robin is left alone with a swirl of thoughts that he has absolutely no idea how to sort through.

/\/\/\

“Bruce!” Jason yells the moment he makes it back to the Cave.

He stalks through the Cave towards the Batcomputer, where Jason knows Bruce is studying a sample of a new toxin from Poison Ivy. Jason sees the moment Bruce turns around to look at him, brows furrowed.

“Jason?”

Jason seethes. “What do you know about Catwoman’s stupid little apprentice?”

“I’m afraid I’m not sure—”

“Don’t,” Jason hisses, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. “I jus’ spent an hour chasin’ the little shit through half the city, an’ he tripped me on my own damn cape. My cape, Bruce! He’s a baby! He can’t be older than eight or nine!”

Bruce raises his hands in a placating manner. “Jason, lad, why don’t you change out of your suit and we’ll talk about this over some of Alfred’s snacks, okay?”

“We can talk about it now!”

“Jason,” Bruce soothes. “Take a moment to change into your lounge clothes, and then we can talk about it over food once you’ve cooled down a little bit.”

“I am perfectly calm, B!”

Jason’s chest is heaving, but when Bruce gives him the _look_ , he deflates. He notices just how sweaty he is, how his calves ache with the strain of his chase with the stupid little cat and how a shower and some of Alfred’s mini cakes sound wonderful.

“Fine,” he grumbles, admitting defeat. “Lemme shower an’ I’ll meet ya upstairs.”

Bruce looks like he wants to reach out and pat his shoulder or something, but thinks better of it and instead clears his throat and nods. “I’ll close up this file and meet you in the kitchen.”

Jason waves in acknowledgement, muttering to himself as he makes his way over to the Cave’s makeshift locker room, where he and Bruce, and Dick when he’s in town, store their costumes and keep a stash of pajamas in a small set of lockers. There are two shower stalls, and Jason briefly debates if he wants to trudge upstairs to his own bathroom or just take his shower down there. Eventually, the urge to change quickly and talk with Bruce wins out over a long, comfortable shower.

Stripping out of his suit and leaving it folded in a neat pile in his locker, Jason grabs his change of clothes and makes his way to the shower stall. He washes quickly, mostly focusing on scrubbing the sweat from his skin and hair. He can take a longer shower in the morning.

Jason dries off and changes, leaving his towel hanging on a hook to dry and padding out of the locker room moments later. Bruce is no longer in the Cave, and Jason is honestly a bit surprised. He can feel the chill of the Cave floor through his socks and the water dripping from his hair is making his shirt damp, so Jason hurries up the stairs and into the manor.

He finds Bruce seated at the kitchen island, talking with Alfred, his hands curled around what looks like a mug of tea. Jason plops into the stool next to Bruce’s. Before he can open his mouth, Alfred is nudging a plate of bite-sized pieces of cake and a mug of tea in front of him. Jason reaches for the mug, inhaling the smell of peppermint tea with a happy sigh. Some of the leftover tension bleeds from his shoulders.

“Thanks, Alf. You’re the best.”

“Of course, Master Jason. Enjoy your treats.”

Alfred sends Bruce a look that Jason doesn’t quite understand before sweeping out of the kitchen in the direction of the stairs, likely to head to bed. Jason takes a sip of tea, not even caring when it burns his tongue.

“So,” Bruce says once Jason’s had a moment to relax, “What were you talking about when you returned to the Cave?”

Jason sends him unimpressed look. “Don’t play dumb, Bruce. It doesn’t suit ya.”

Bruce just looks at him, waiting for Jason to explain himself. Jason both appreciates the gesture and wishes Bruce would just get to it. He sighs again, takes another gulp of steaming tea, and steadies himself before speaking.

“Catwoman’s got an apprentice. You know everythin’ that goes on in Gotham, B, so don’t act like you didn’t know.”

Bruce nods in affirmation. “She does. How did you discover this?”

Jason snorts. “I found the kid ‘bout two week ago, sittin’ on a roof an’ watchin’ Catwoman work a job. We talked for barely a minute before he was swingin’ off. I was curious so I’ve been followin’ him a bit.”

Bruises raises a single eyebrow in a well-practiced motion. ( _Thanks, Dickwad,_ Jason thinks absently. _Your antics made Bruce master the judgmental dad look_.) Jason rolls his eyes.

“Fine, maybe more than a little. ‘Sides the kid’s freakin’ tiny, Bruce. Tiny, like, can’t be older than an elementary school kid tiny. An’ he’s runnin’ round Gotham in a kiddified catsuit. He’s got a whip an’ everything.” Jason huffs. “Catwoman’s obviously been teachin’ him. I’ve seen her with ‘im. And he led me round the city, then tripped me in my own cape an’ ran off. Aint no way any kid could do that without the cat tellin’ ‘im how.”

Bruce is quiet for a moment. His fingers rest against the warm ceramic of his mug, and Jason watches him from the corner of his eye. Only his elbows keep Jason from falling face first onto the counter top. Finally, Bruce clears his throat. Jason’s eyes snap to him.

“I knew Selina had picked up a stray, but I was unaware of just how much training she had given him. I had assumed…”

“Assumed what?”

“I assumed that she took him in for personal reasons. I did not expect her to allow him out on the streets, especially as young as he is.”

Jason frowns. “What’s that supposed ta mean? Did Catwoman know him outside the mask or somethin’?”

“I am unsure,” Bruce says. His face is carefully blank, but Jason recognizes the lines of tired stress that are etched into his skin.

Jason allows himself to be quiet, to think. He sips his tea, enjoys the bite-sized cakes the feel as though they melt in his mouth. His mind is whirring, and Jason tries to think through the dozens of scenarios running through his brain at maximum speed. He is shaken out of his thoughts when Bruce lays a gentle hand on his shoulder, fingers curled comfortingly into the tense muscles of his back.

“Go to sleep, Jason. We’ll look into the boy, and if we feel we need to intervene, we can. Selina wouldn’t knowingly hurt a child, especially not one she’s come to care for.”

Jason bites his lip. “B…” he starts hesitantly. At Bruce’s open expression, he caves. “Do you think that Catwoman really cares about this kid?”

“I do,” says Bruce. “Selina may not show it, but she cares immensely about those who deserve it. But don’t worry about that for now, champ. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

Jason frowns, pressing his lips together, but he nods, shoulders slumping. “Tomorrow,” he agrees. “Thanks, B.”

Bruce offers him a small smile. “Of course, son. Now off to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

As Jason rinses out his mug to avoid stains, setting it gently on the counter and heading towards his bedroom, he finds a small smile settling on his lips.

Bruce had said we.

/\/\/\

When Jason gets up the next morning, his hamstrings burn.

Hissing, he pushes himself out of bed and glares at his leg as though it has personally offended him. Jason feels the muscle tug as he makes his way to his bathroom to get ready. Apparently Mini Cat’s chase across Gotham’s skyline last night required more movement than his regular patrols. Jason’s best guess is that the fast-paced dash across rooftops was just different enough from his usual style to stress out his body.

He scowls.

He was moving like Dick last night.

Jason banishes the thoughts before they can fester. He pulls himself into a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, stumbling out of his room and rubbing at his eyes as he heads towards the kitchen. He can smell bacon cooking and hears the sizzle of the cooktop. Jason hums in contentment.

Sure enough, Alfred is moving about the kitchen, bacon in one pan, eggs in another. Jason is about to grab the juice from the fridge when he sees the waffle maker sitting on the counter.

“Good morning, Master Jason. I trust you slept well?”

_Oh man. There’s no escape._

Jason bites his tongue to hide is disgust. “Mornin’, Alfie. I slept fine. Mini Cat tired me out more than I thought. My hamstring’s killin’ me.”

Alfred hums, though Jason sees a small quirk to his lips. It takes him a moment to realize he referred to Catwoman’s finicky apprentice as ‘Mini Cat’ outside of his own head. Well, shit. Hopefully, Alfred will take pity on his sleepy state and not tell Bruce. Or Dick. Dick would never let him live it down.

He grabs the gallon of apple juice and busies himself making a glass and returning the jug to the refrigerator before taking his seat at the kitchen island. Alfred is typically one for family meals taken in the dining room, but when Bruce is out on Wayne Enterprises business or sleeping off a particularly rough night, he lets Jason sit and eat with him in the kitchen. More often, he’ll let Jason get away with it at lunch because Bruce is almost never around during the day.

“Perhaps after breakfast you can take some time to stretch. I assume you forgot to last night.”

Jason feels his cheeks warm.

Vigilantism 101: stretch out after patrol so your muscles don’t cramp and you can actually move the next day.

“Yeah,” he admits as Alfred sets a plate down in front of him. “I forgot cause I was tellin’ B everythin’ about Catwoman’s mini me.” He spears a forkful of eggs.

“I see. Master Bruce mentioned that there was a meeting at Wayne Enterprises he could not escape today, but that he will be back after lunch so you two can begin your inquiry into Catwoman’s apprentice.”

Jason swallows his eggs and glares at his plate. Bruce leaving work earlier to investigate something Jason’s worried about? Doesn’t sound like him. As he pours a generous amount of syrup over his waffle in hopes that the sticky sweetness will at least hide the taste of the waffles, Jason admits that he’s thankful Bruce is willing to look into Mini Cat. He lays off the syrup when Alfred glares at him. Jason offers a sheepish smile and prepares himself for his first bite.

He forces the waffle down as fast as he can while still being polite. When he’s done, he washes the flavor away with apple juice before finishing his bacon and eggs, chatting with Alfred between mouthfuls.

“Miss Gordon has asked to see you today,” Alfred says as Jason hands him his plate to load into the dishwasher.

“Really? What’s Barbie want?”

“Miss Gordon did not say, only that she would like to meet you at the library at 10:30. We will be back to the Manor around the same time as Master Bruce.”

Jason hums, moving around the kitchen, helping Alfred gather the dishes and run the water for the sink for the pans that will not fit in the dishwasher. He and Barbara get on well enough, but they’re not as close as she and Dick ever were. Robin and Batgirl butt heads more than they do, but they do make a good team when they manage to work together without wanting to killing each other.

“What time is it?” Jason asks, wiping down the kitchen island with a washcloth. He can’t see the time on either the microwave or the stove from where he’s standing.

“It is a quarter until ten,” Alfred tells him, setting the last of the clean dished into the drying rack. “You best go stretch that leg before we go or it will hurt worse tomorrow.”

“Got it. Thanks for breakfast, Alfie. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, Master Jason. I have a fresh set of athletic clothes set out for you in the Cave.”

Jason grins. “You’re the best.”

He heads towards the study, punching in the code that pushes aside the grandfather clock that hides the entrance to the Cave. Bruce has always loved his theatrics. Jason hurries down the stairs, stripping quickly and replacing his day clothes with his athletic ones. Foregoing shoes, Jason makes a beeline to the sparring mats.

He sinks to the floor in little more than a heap, muscles aching. Jason glowers. He hopes the freaking cat is as sore as he is. Knowing the little bastard, he’s probably not. He seems flexible enough to get away with his stupid stunts and stupid city-wide chase.

Jason’s hamstring screams when he extends his leg fully out in front of him and reaches for his toes, and he spends fifteen seconds breathing through his teeth, five seconds cursing Mini Cat once again, and the last ten seconds forcing himself not to give in and sit up.

He moves through his regular stretching routine, and the soreness gradually begins to recede, though ache is still there and likely will be for a few more days.

Alfred calls down the stairs sometime after Jason has eased himself into another set of the same stretches because everything still hurts, telling Jason that he has ten minutes to get dressed and meet him in the car.

Jason huffs a laugh and changes back into his civvies, wiping his face clean with a wet cloth even though he’s not sweaty. He jogs back up the stairs, hamstring still tugging slightly, though much less than before. He definitely needs to work on getting flexible enough that a rooftop chase doesn’t feel like it’s killing him when he forgets to stretch.

Jason meets Alfred outside, finding the car parked in the front of the manor, Alfred already behind the driver’s seat. Jason grins, opening the passenger door, but Alfred’s look has him grumbling and crawling into the backseat.

“I’m old enough to ride up front, Alfie,” he complains as they head away from the manor. “Even accordin’ to the law.”

Alfred meets his eye in the rearview mirror. “Maybe so, Master Jason, but I would feel better if you remained in the back.”

“They say the front is safer,” Jason tries. “I read about it at school.”

Alfred hums. “Perhaps I will look into it. But until then, you will remain in the back.”

Jason groans.

As they drive towards Old Gotham, he and Alfred have random conversations. They talk about their favorite classic books, what Jason learned in school, how he feels about going back to school in the fall. Jason even tries to ask Alfred about his time in Europe (“And what exactly did you do again, Alfie? Somethin’ with the government, right?”) and Alfred’s wry smile frustrates him to no end.

“Perhaps I’ll tell you when you’re older, Master Jason.”

“Alfie! Now I know there’s somethin’ awesome you’re not tellin’ me. Not that you’re not awesome every day, but come on!”

“Don’t despair,” Alfred says smugly, “not even Master Bruce is aware of all of my activities while I lived in England.”

Jason throws his head back against the headrest, feeling slightly better knowing that Bruce—the all-knowing, world’s greatest detective—doesn’t even know everything Alfred got up to before he immigrated to the States.

They reach the library a few minutes later, and as Jason clambers out of the town car, Alfred says, “I’ll be back to pick you up at a quarter to noon, and perhaps we can surprise Master Bruce at the office before returning to the Manor.”

Jason grins. “Sounds great, Alfie. See ya later!”

He shuts the door, absolutely does not slam it because Alfred would kill him, and takes off towards the library, taking the stairs up to the door two at a time. The oppressive, muggy heat of the Gotham summer is replaced with the chill of the air-conditioned library, and the smell of books washes over Jason.

He’s always loves the library, ever since he first learned to read, mostly teaching himself from his mom’s old, beaten up copy of Pride and Prejudice. Later, once he was on his own, the library was someplace warm to crash during the day, and he still had his old library card, so the librarians let him curl up in his corner and read to his heart’s content. Of course, he didn’t get to do that often, too busy trying to find a way to feed himself.

Jason shakes himself out of that thought process. It never does him any good.

Instead, he moves further into the library, eyes scanning the crowd from the bright pop of red hair that separates Barbara Gordon from most everyone else in Gotham. He finds her in seconds, waving at him from a table in the corner of the Science section. Jason heads in her direction.

“Hey there, Barbie,” he greets, dodging the elbow aimed for his ribs with another grin. “What’d ya want ta see me for?”

Barbara rolls her eyes. She motions for him to follow her deeper into the shelves so they’re further separated from the rest of the library’s occupants. Jason raises a brow.

“Somethin’ ya want ta tell me, Barbie? Cause it seems like you’re dragging me away so no one can hear me scream.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Barbara says.

Jason follows her until they’re tucked away in the far corner of the library with no one around them.

“Wanna tell me why we’re hidin’ back here?”

Barbara huffs, flicking his forehead. “Because it’s quiet. Almost no one comes back here, and those who do are tired college students who are dead on their feet and wouldn’t notice us if we were screaming at each other.”

“So what?” Jason glares at her. “Ya wouldn’t drag me here ta talk ta me about Family stuff, ya’d just come by the manor. So whaddya want?”

Barbara’s eyes twinkle mischievously. “I want to give you homework.”

“What?”

That is certainly not what Jason is expecting.

“I’m your tutor. I’m not going to let my student fall behind because it’s summer break.”

Jason scowls. “You tutored me in Algebra. It’s not like I’m stupid.”

“I know that, Jason,” Barbara says softly.

Jason huffs. “If that’s all, why’d ya drag me all the way back here like that?”

“It was fun to see your confusion.”

“Really?”

“No, because there is actually something other than homework I want to talk to you about—”

Jason holds up a hand. Full stop. “If it’s about Dick, I so don’t want to hear it.”

It’s Barbara’s turn to scowl. “The asshole hasn’t bothered to keep in touch, so no, it’s not about that. I actually wanted to get your opinion on some crime statistics from Crime Alley. I’m doing a project for my dad, and I figured you’d have more insight than anyone else.” She scans their immediate area to make sure they’re alone. Lowering her voice, she continues, “There is something family I want to talk about too, but that can wait until I make it to the Manor next.”

Jason blinks at her in poorly concealed surprise. He shakes himself out of it. “Oh.” His stomach is an odd mix of anxiety, anger, and a swirl of other emotions he wants to shove down and lock away.

Barbara sets a hand on his shoulder. “I also need to find a coding textbook for my summer glass at Gotham University. I figured we could talk as I look, and maybe pick you up some geometry stuff if you want to get a head start for next year.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Come on,” Barbara nudges him. “We both know you’re a smarty pants. You always want to know what you’re going to learn before you learn it.”

“Watch it, Barbie,” Jason says, but he’s laughing.

Barbara laughs with him, tilting her head and waving her hand. “This way. This is the natural science section. I think computer science is this way.”

Jason dutifully follows her, and they find the aisle they’re looking for easily enough. Barbara immediately starts looking through the shelves, and Jason leans back.

“Tell me again why you’re takin’ college classes during the summer. You’re on track at GU, aren’t you?”

“I am, but if I add a few classes, I can graduate early and move onto my master’s a year early.”

Jason hums. “And ya call me the smarty pants.”

“Aha!” Barbara grabs a hefty book from the bottom shelf, getting to her feet and grinning. “GU’s library doesn’t carry this for some reason. Said not enough people take the class for them to keep it stocked.”

“Makes sense,” Jason says.

Barbara glares and turns away from him, heading towards the end of the aisle, only to pull short when someone comes around the corner, nearly running into her torso. Jason comes up behind her, unable to see whoever popped up.

“Hey there,” Barbara says, and Jason recognizes the tone she uses when she talks to little kids. “Did you get lost back here? My friend and I can bring you back up to the front if you want.”

“I’m actually looking for a book in this section,” says the new person, and Jason blinks in surprise once he catches sight of them.

“Tim?”

Sure enough, Tim Drake peers around Barbara’s figure, bright blue eyes wide.

“Hi, Jason.”

Barbara shoots Jason a look that clearly says ‘We’ll be talking about how you know someone this tiny later.’ Jason shrugs it off.

“What’re you doing here?” Jason asks instead, coming up to stand next to Barbara.

Tim shrugs. “I’m looking for the second edition of my coding book. I couldn’t find it at any of the book stores so I figured I’d check here.”

Jason sees Barbara glance at him from the corner of her eyes, and Jason knows that she’s interested now. That’s the look she gets whenever there’s a particularly difficult firewall for her to crack. It the ‘problem I really want to solve’ look. He spares a moment of sympathy for Tim.

“This is the advanced section,” Barbara says, not unkindly, though Jason can tell she’s merely probing for information.

“I’m aware,” Tim says. “The book I’m reading is used in the classes at Gotham University.”

Barbara hums in interest. “That’s really cool that you’re at the level. What grade are you going into next year?”

“I’m going into eighth grade.”

“Wow,” says Barbara. “If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?”

“I’ll be eleven on the nineteenth.”

“Alright, Barbie, leave ‘im alone.” Jason doesn’t miss the thankful look Tim sends him. “Find your book, Tim. We’ll wait for ya, and we can walk up front together.”

Tim shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “It’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to wait.”

“No worries,” Jason says. “We’re not in a rush. Alfred won’t be here for a while.”

Barbara nods in agreement, and Jason sees Tim think it over before nodding hesitantly. Jason moves to the side to give him room to get further into the aisle, and even though there’s plenty of room, Tim turns his shoulders to the side to avoid making contact. Jason meets Barbara’s eyes and he knows that she saw it too.

As far as Jason knows, Tim has no aversion to touch. He’s accepted all hair ruffles and elbow nudges, and if anything, he’s just scowled in annoyance. Jason wants to call it a pout, but for being so small, Tim has an uncanny ability to turn his expression to ice. It’s a bit scary.

Barbara tilts her head in a silent question, and Jason shrugs. It only takes Tim about a minute to find his book, and he appears behind them so quietly that Jason almost doesn’t notice him.

“Thank you for waiting,” Tim says.

Barbara smiles. “Of course. Any friend of Jason’s is a friend of mine.”

Tim tries to bite back a look of surprise, only half succeeding. He’s a second too slow to stop the widening of his eyes or the small hitch in his breath before his expression smooths over and he smiles.

Jason recognizes it as the smile he used at the art gala when he couldn’t escape the few wandering hands that pinched his cheeks. He hates the smile. How Tim can call it so easily and ease into without and issue. It’s a very good fake smile, but Jason has seen Tim smile just enough to see the tension in the corners of his eyes and in the set of his shoulders and the lift of his chin.

“Thank you, Miss Gordon.”

Barbara blinks. “You know who I am?”

Tim shrugs, smile not leaving his lips. “We met briefly at the Police Department Charity Gala last winter. I have a knack for remembering faces.”

Jason can see Barbara fighting to keep her own expression controlled and friendly. She doesn’t like being caught off guard, especially when remembering things is normally her thing, eidetic memory and all. Jason sees when she remembers, a sudden tension in her shoulders, so slight that he only notices it because he’s standing right next to her.

“Timothy Drake, right? Jack and Janet’s son, the owners of Drake Industries.”

“Please, call me Tim, Miss.”

Barbara is about to speak, but Jason nudges her gently behind her back so that the kid can’t see. He shakes his head minutely before turning to face Tim.

“Drop the stupid smile, Tim.”

Tim freezes and Barbara smacks him upside the head.

“Jason!” she scolds.

Tim seems to be planning a hasty retreat, expression closed off and eyes icy, the tension in his shoulders no longer subtle. Jason rubs the back of his head, glaring at Barbara.

“That’s not how I meant it!” he hisses at her. He looks at Tim dead in the eye and says, “That’s your Timothy Drake smile for the high society parties.” Tim stiffens further, and Jason resists the urge to sigh. “I’ve seen you smile enough to know when it’s fake or not, kid. Ya don’t gotta pretend with Babs. She’s chill.”

Barbara is looking at him flatly. Oh, that’s definitely the ‘What the hell have you been up to, and you better tell me the first chance you get or I’m going to kick it out of you’ look.

Tim looks at him like he’s trying to take Jason apart and figure him out piece by piece. It’s a bit unsettling considering the kid doesn’t even reach his collarbones. Tim drops the smile though.

“Sorry about that,” he says sheepishly, shifting on his feet again. “Bad habit. Can’t have mother hearing that I was out and about without being proper about it.”

Tim rolls his eyes and tucks his book under his arm. For the first time, Jason realizes that it’s a massive textbook, bigger than any of the ones he’s ever had in school before. He’s too busy ogling it to hear Tim and Barbara talking, only taking notice when Barbara’s sharp elbow comes in contact with his ribs.

“Let’s go check out,” she says. “Anything else you wanted to get first, Tim?”

“No, Miss.”

Barbara laughs. “I like you,” she says. “But call me Barbara. Miss makes me feel old.”

Tim nods, and together the three of them make their way out of the near deserted science section, making their way towards the check out desk. Barbara lets Tim go first, and Jason bites his cheek to keep from laughing when Tim has to stand on his tip toes to place the hefty book on the tall counter. He ignores Barbara’s pointed look.

Tim returns to Jason’s side as Barbara checks out her own book, chatting happily with the librarian at the desk. Jason remembers her mentioning something about a friend working at the library, but he can’t be sure.

Barbara’s back a few minutes later, and she immediately turns to face Tim.

“Do you know where your parents are? Or do you need to wait for them to come pick you up?”

Tim lets that stupid smooth expression settle over his face. Jason wants to rip his hair out. This kid never stops with the shoving down and repressing his thoughts to keep from saying that out loud. God, he’s worse than Bruce is with his emotions.

“My parents didn’t bring me,” he says.

Barbara frowns. “Oh?”

It’s not the voice she uses on innocent little kids. No, it’s the voice she uses as Barbara Gordon, daughter of the police commissioner, and Batgirl, the city’s protector. It’s the voice she uses with hurt children who need support.

Jason nearly gets whiplash from the revelation.

He hears that voice when they patrol together and she talks to a hurt kid, or when she’s at work with her dad and is distracting one of the abuse victims waiting for CPS to show up.

(It’s the voice she used on him for the first three days after she learned that Bruce plucked him off the streets of Crime Alley until he told her where she could shove it.)

Tim must notice too because his eyes narrow in the slightest. “A family friend dropped me off while she’s running some errands. She’ll be here soon.”

Barbara doesn’t relax. Jason doesn’t blame her.

“We’ll wait with you, okay?” she offers. “Let’s go crash in the bean bags.”

For the next half an hour, Barbara and Tim babble about computers and coding and a bunch of stuff that Robin Training: Hacking 101 didn’t cover. Jason finds himself a copy of _Emma_ and tunes them out, listening just enough to know if Tim or Barbara push too close to each other’s secrets.

Jason’s sinking into the faded blue bean bag, relaxing for the first time since he bumped into Mini Cat nearly two and a half weeks ago. He’s close to nodding off, almost in a trance as he absently reads the book in front of him. It’s because of this that he almost misses Tim say,

“My ride is here. Thank you for your time.”

His eyes open slowly, and he and Barbara are thinking the same thing as Barbara smiles her ‘girl next door’ smile. She has almost as many freaky expressions as Tim. He thinks that if they really get to know each other, they’ll get on like a house on fire.

“Why don’t we walk you out?”

Jason nods along. “Make sure you don’t get lost in the crowd,” he says. “So tiny you’d just get swept away.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Thank you for the offer, but it’s okay. Have a nice day.”

Barbara goes to protest and Jason is halfway out of his beanbag, but then there’s a scream and the sound of crying. They turn away, instantly looking for any kind of threat. It turns out it’s only a little girl in the children’s section who fell and scraped her knee.

When they turn back around, Tim’s already gone.

/\/\/\

Batgirl arrives in the Batcave with a loud screech of her tires that shows that she is not happy. Parking her bike and yanking down her cowl, Barbara stalks towards where Jason is sitting beside the Batcomputer.

She pins him to his seat with a glare straight from hell. “You got out of this conversation earlier because Alfred showed up but now, tell me what the hell was that at the library.”

Bruce looks at them warily from the corner of his eye but doesn’t intervene. Instead, his attention remains focused on the list of Catwoman’s known jobs over the past year. Jason sees a space of a several weeks where she didn’t take a single job, even though she shouldn’t have been injured during that time. He ignores it and faces Barbara.

“His name is Tim and we met at the art gala at the museum in March.”

“I know his name,” Barbara seethes. “What I want to know is why I see the beginning signs of psychological trauma in a ten-year-old boy.”

“I want to know that too,” Jason snaps. He runs a gloved hand through his hair, dressed in his Robin suit even though he probably won’t be going out tonight, instead helping Bruce with his research into Mini Cat. He takes a deep breath, shoulders slumping. “Come on, we can talk about it over some tea.”

“No costumes in the manor,” Bruce calls absentmindedly, a reflex beaten into him by Alfred when Dick was still new to the costume and had the tendency to wear the Robin suit around the manor while he tried to use the chandeliers in the ballroom as make shift trapezes.

Jason rolls his eyes. “I have an electronic kettle stashed down here precisely for this reason.”

Barbara doesn’t speak, arms crossed over her chest and expression stony. She stares Jason down the entire time he prepares two mugs of peppermint tea, adding the two spoonsful of sugar he knows that she likes. Barbara takes the cup when he offers it, and Jason counts it as a win.

“Look,” he says, “I met Tim at that stupid gala in March. I went ta find a corner ta hide in ta avoid everyone, an’ instead I found Tim hidin’ behind the curtains ta the closed exhibit. His parents hosted the damn thing apparently, and he was s’pposed to be suckin’ up ta the guests. He thought I was his mom comin’ ta scold ‘im and was already startin’ to apologize before he even looked up.”

Jason shakes his head, sipping at his tea, ignoring the burn on his lips and tongue. Barbara watches him, lips pressed into a thin line. Jason continues.

“We ended up talking for awhile until he disappeared ta say goodbye ta someone. I didn’t see ‘im after that. Few weeks later, I knocked the kid down in the library at school. Gave ‘im a nose bleed.”

Barbara’s stony expression starts to soften as she muffles a snort. “Really, Jay? You’ve seen that boy. He’s probably not even seventy pounds. You knocked him straight on his ass, didn’t you?”

Jason winces. “Guilty.”

Barbara sighs, and Jason would like to think that it sounds almost fond. “Idiot,” she says. “Keep going.”

“There’s really not much to it. I brought ‘im to the nurses office, an’ after that we’d jus’ bump inta each other every once in a while. Mostly during study hall or lunch. He doesn’t have a lotta friends ‘cause he’s younger than everyone else. I’ve spooked a few bullies before they could get ta ‘im. He’s always quiet, never really starts anythin’. I always havta be the one ta start talkin’ to ‘im, otherwise he’ll jus’ sit there alone.”

Barbara frowns. “Low self-esteem would be normal for a child that smart surrounded by peers who seem to reject him, and anxiety about being around others could be a result of the isolation. But the touch aversion? If anything, I would think he’d be touch starved. And the thing with the smile and expressions? I’ve been going to those high society parties as long as dad’s been the commissioner. If those kids don’t like the parties, they tend to be pretty loud about it until they grow up. That’s why there’s usually only teenagers there.”

Jason shrugs. “He’s a mature kid. Has to be, I guess. I’d say that a lotta that comes from his parents. I dunno much about the Drakes, but the last day a’ school when Dick was in town for the gamblin’ think, I saw ‘im waitin’ ta be picked up. He was readin’ business reports, Barbie. I think it was about DI’s annual budget or somethin’? I dunno. The kid flat out admitted that he doesn’t wanna go inta the business, but ‘is mom’s got ‘im readin’ reports at ten. Kid says that she knows if he doesn’t read ‘em.”

Barbara sips at her tea, finally letting go of the last of the frown on her lips. Her shoulders are still slumped and there’s a crease to her brow. She looks as frustrated and tired as Jason feels.

“If you can, just keep an eye on him,” Barbara says finally. “Make sure that there’s nothing else going on other than parents with high expectations. We can’t do anything when we don’t know everything that’s going on.”

“That was the plan,” Jason agrees. “He lives next door, so I was plannin’ on stoppin’ by sometime.”

“That’s a good idea. And Jason,” Barbara’s look is serious, and her eyes are hard. “If you ever think that he’s in trouble, you get your ass over there. And let him know that he’s always welcome at the manor.”

Jason grins. “Yes, ma’am.”

Barbara has already started to say something else when Bruce’s voice echoes throughout the cave.

“Catwoman and the boy have been spotted in the fashion district and appear to be splitting up.”

Jason jerks to his feet, mug of cooling tea forgotten as he sprints towards the Batcomputer, a confused Barbara on his heels.

“Ya sayin’ what I think ya sayin’, B?”

Bruce pulls the cowl over his head. “Mask on Robin. Trail the apprentice, but do not engage. Study movement, route taken, and skill level. If Catwoman appears, fall back.”

Jason nods, the tension seeping back into his body as he presses his lips together. He reaches for his domino and hears Barbara ask,

“What apprentice?”

Mask secured firmly to his face, Robin frowns. “Catwoman’s found a Mini Cat to train.”

Batgirl frowns. “Okay… Why the fuss? B, you took us all in when we were underage.”

They continue speaking as they move towards their vehicles, conversation transferring to their comms as Batman and Robin pull out in the Batmobile, Batgirl racing beside them on her bike.

“It’s different,” Robin says. “Mini Cat’s the size of an eight-year-old. A skinny eight-year-old who hasn’t seen the sun since the day he was born.”

Batgirl sounds exasperated as she says, “Nightwing was nine when he put on the mask for the first time. You can’t judge someone when you’ve made the same choices.”

“Nightwing had trainin’ backin’ ‘im up. This one? He doesn’t gotta lick a’ what Wing had at that age. S’not safe.”

“Robin, this is Catwoman. She has a soft spot for kids and strays. She wouldn’t send someone out if she didn’t think they could do it.”

Robin snarls. “Just ‘cause she thinks he can do it doesn’t mean he can.”

“I’m just saying, don’t go barking up the wrong tree—”

“That’s enough,” Batman interrupts. The two of them fall silent. “This is recon only. Once we have all the relevant information, we will decide whether or not it is in the boy’s best interest for us to intervene.”

Robin and Batgirl remain silent, both stewing in their own opinions. They finish the ride to central Gotham in silence. The Batmobile pulls over sharply, and Robin’s door is open in seconds.

“The apprentice was last seen on 12th street. Follow from a distance. Go.”

Robin’s boots have already left the ground.

Distantly he hears Batman to tell Batgirl to stick to her normal patrol routes as the Batmobile tears off into the night. All Robin can think about, though, is finding the Mini Cat and finally getting some answers.

The night air is muggy, feeling as though it’s physically weighing him down. The heat of the day has gone down with the sun, but there is no breeze in the middle of the city and the humidity is only somewhat bearable.

Making his way towards 12th street, Robin is especially careful to stick to the shadows. When he’d thought he’d been unseen before, Mini Cat had actually been watching him for days. So, Robin keeps his footsteps light, pulling his cape around his shoulders so the outer black layer will wide the red of his tunic. He doesn’t even reach for his grapple gun, even though roof jumping is not his strong suit. His hamstring still aches, sending occasional lances of pain through the back of his thigh. Robin does his best to ignore the twinges.

The night is filled with the sound of the city, and Robin uses the noise to his advantage as he leaps across a rather large gap between buildings, landing with a thump even as he rolls to his feet. His shoulder and hip will bruise from the awkward angle, but he’ll just have to deal.

Robin creeps through the Fashion District, and just as he makes it to the intersection of 12th and Holtzen, he sees a flash of a shadow across the street. Robin holds his breath, ducking behind a rumbling A/C unit until he’s sure that he won’t be seen.

Slowly, he creeps forward, watching as the shadow dashes across the rooftop of the tailor shop used by Brucie Wayne. Robin does as he was told, following the shadow and hanging back as far as he can manage without losing the trail.

Robin makes it as far Sherwood Florist, nearing the border of Old Gotham, uncomfortably close to the library that threw off his entire day, before it happens.

He’s nearly six rooftops away, and the shadow—who is definitely Mini Cat based on the hood and the whip that dangles at his hip—disappears.

Robin swears colorfully. He was so careful. There is no way he could have been spotted from so far back. He was a damn Bat. Robin gives in to the urge to defy Batman and follow the cat-that-shouldn’t-be-in-training. He hurries across the rooftops, a mere blur in the Gotham skyline as he quickly closes the distance between him and Mini Cat.

He drops onto the rooftop of a small antique shop, gravel shifting softly under his boots as he creeps towards the edge of the roof where Mini Cat had disappeared. What he finds shocks him.

Mini Cat didn’t fall due to a lack of skill as he misses the landing.

Mini Cat didn’t fall because he realized there was someone tailing him.

Mini Cat didn’t fall because he was suddenly ambushed.

Because Mini Cat is curled into a corner of the antique shop’s small courtyard, back pressed against the wooden fence and fingers twisted tightly through dark hair as his chest heaves with short, shallow breaths.

Mini Cat fell because he’s in the midst of a panic attack.

Robin jerks back at the thought. He’s about to drop down into the courtyard and attempt to calm the young boy down when Catwoman beats him to it. She seemingly appears out of nowhere, and the shock of seeing her sends Robin reeling.

He watches with a clenched jaw as Catwoman soothes Mini Cat, stroking a hand through his hair and removing his fingers to stop his tugging. She whispers softly, soft enough that Robin can’t hear it even with all of his sensors, gathering Mini Cat close to her chest.

Mini Cat’s entire body is trembling with poorly concealed, choked sobs as he struggles to draw a breath. He’s breathing too fast and too shallow, and Robin is sure that he’s feeling lightheaded enough to make him panic even more.

Before Robin can even think about radioing Batman, Catwoman has scooped the still crying Mini Cat into her arms and leapt into the night. Robin watches them go before pressing the comm in his ear.

“Robin here. Mini Cat just had what looks like a panic attack. Catwoman got here pretty quick and got ‘im outta here. My guess is they’re headin’ home.”

Batman’s voice is low and sharp in his ear. “Did you engage?”

Robin grits his teeth. “Negative. I dunno if Catwoman saw me or not. She seemed pretty focused on the kid.”

Batman is silent for several minutes. Robin remains on the roof, staring at the spot where Mini Cat had been, shaking and sobbing, moments before. When Batman’s voice crackles in his ear, he startles.

“Return to the Batcave,” Batman says, “and call Nightwing.”

/\/\/\

Dick Grayson arrives in Gotham as he always does anymore: unexpected and without a single word of warning.

Jason has a habit of running when he has too much on his mind. It calms him down, gives him something to focus on. With everything going on with Mini Cat and the panic attack, and hell even Tim and the questions that keep piling up about his family, Jason needs an outlet.

So, when he gets back from the last minute, five mile run he went on at six in the morning when he realized he’d never fall asleep, rubbing the sweat from his face with a towel, and sees Dick sitting at the kitchen island and chatting with Alfred, he freezes.

Dick has already heard him enter, though, so he turns and looks at Jason over his shoulder. He smiles, but it’s stiff and flat.

“Jason,” he greets. “Went running?”

Jason grits his teeth. “Obviously.”

Dick’s smile pulls tight. “Well, I hope you enjoyed it. B said you could fill me in on what’s going on?”

Jason straightens, shoulders automatically pulling back. “Yeah, yeah. Lemme grab a shower, then I’ll get ya caught up.”

Dick nods, but Jason’s left for his room before he can say a word.

Jason hurries through his shower, scrubbing the sweat from his skin and hair before he dresses in joggers and a worn t-shirt. He makes it down to the Cave quickly, finding Dick already seated at the Batcomputer and flipping through Bruce’s files.

“You find the file on Catwoman yet?”

Dick doesn’t look back. “First thing I looked at, Little Wing.”

Jason chooses not to say anything at the nickname. “An’ whaddya think?”

“I don’t know yet.” Dick pushes away from the Batcomputer, turning to face Jason. “You’ve had the most interaction with this new apprentice. What do you think about it?”

Jason narrows his eyes, trying to gauge how serious Dick is about asking for his opinion. He looks open enough, but Jason’s never really been good at getting a read on him. When Dick waits patiently for him to speak, Jason moves closer, standing close enough he can see the files Dick has displayed on the computer.

“I think the kid’s got potential but that he’s way too young to be on the streets like he is.”

Dick leans back in his seat. “I was nine when I became Robin.”

“I know that,” says Jason, with more bite than he needs to. “But you were a trained acrobat, okay? You’d been trainin’ since before ya could walk. Dick, this kid is smaller than an elementary schooler. I could probably pick ‘im up in one hand.”

“Size isn’t all that matters,” Dick reminds him gently.

Jason runs a hand through his hair. “I know that. But this kid—”

“You said yourself that he has potential,” Dick points out. “Tell me what you think about his skills alone.”

“He’s fast,” Jason grumbles. “Seems like the kid’s feet don’t even touch the frickin’ ground before he’s off runin’ again. He’s got a little skill in gymnastics, but I think Catwoman’s only really taught ‘im about roof jumpin’. Pretty much every time I’ve seen ‘im, he’s either been right next to her or jus’ watchin’ from afar. One time he led me on a freakin’ chase through the city that ended with me getting’ caught by my own cape.”

Dick snorts. “So, what made you call me in? B wouldn’t ask for my help unless he thought it was serious. Definitely not just because the kid’s on the young side.”

Jason purses his lips. “Last time I saw ‘im, he fell off a roof cause he was havin’ a panic attack.”

“Oh?” Dick’s attention is obviously piqued now. It’s no longer just a new mask who’s a little on the young side. It’s a new mask who’s a little on the young side with potential psychological issues. “Any idea what triggered him?”

“Not a clue.”

Dick frowns. “I see,” he says.

Jason’s not really sure that he does.

/\/\/\

Bruce gets home later that night, and Batgirl arrives an hour before patrol is scheduled to begin.

They talk about Mini Cat, debate about Catwoman, and in the end, make a plan to split them up and glean as much information as possible.

Batgirl tells them she’ll have no part of it.

/\/\/\

Robin and Nightwing find Mini Cat laying down on a roof, across the street where Catwoman’s in the process of sneaking out of the Natural History Museum

They learn quickly that Mini Cat has both snark and smarts in spades. He’s quick, just as Robin says. Quick enough to allow himself to drop off the edge of the roof before the shout can leave Nightwing’s lips as he lunges forward, too slow to catch the edge of the boy’s suit.

Robin feels panic seize his throat. “Shit!” he yells, jumping forward after Nightwing. “What th’ hell is he thinking?!”

They make it to the edge of the roof, finding a balcony a floor below them. Robin glances at Nightwing from the corner of his eye.

“Think he went inside or worked his way ta ground level?”

“Probably inside. Let’s try and track him down inside. He can’t have gone far.”

Robin purses his lips and nods. Together, they drop down onto the balcony and dive inside the building. They split up, each taking alternating floors until they work their way to ground level. Robin hears Nightwing swear over the comm.

“He’s not here.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. There’s no heat signatures other than us.”

Robin scowls. “Could his suit be blocking his signature?”

“Possibly,” Nightwing admits. “But that’s unlikely. That kinda tech is insanely expensive. I don’t know if Catwoman would do that for a suit the kid’s going to outgrow.”

“How’d he slip out the building without one of us knowing?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he did jump from the balcony.”

“I told ya he was a pain in the ass,” Robin grumbles. “He’s probably headin’ towards East End. That’s where he an’ Catwoman usually hang out.”

“I know where Catwoman’s apartment is. He’s probably on his way there. Let’s try to intercept him.”

Robin leaps out of the nearest second-story window, using his grapple gun to pull him up towards the next building over. He and Nightwing work their way through Gotham, trying to cut off Mini Cat before he can make it to East End. Robin’s frustration is mounting quickly, and his patience is running low.

It’s nearly twenty minutes later when he hears the static of his comm in his ear.

“Found him in Little Italy. He’s turned around and is heading south west, looks like he’s going for Diamond District.” Nightwing swears more colorfully than Jason’s ever heard. “Batman’s got Catwoman cornered in Chinatown. I bet the boy is trying to meet up with her. I don’t know if he knows that B’s there.”

“I told ya,” Robin growls. “Pain in the ass.”

Nightwing huffs but doesn’t say anything in return.

They find Mini Cat not too much later, crouched on the roof of a bus speeding towards Chinatown like Nightwing thought. The boy seems truly annoyed, and Robin hears him snark off before he surprises both him and Nightwing with his bluntness.

He knows what they’re doing.

He’s a smart kid, and Robin wonders how he didn’t realize it before. The incident with the cape wasn’t Catwoman’s doing—that was Mini Cat all on his own.

Robin nearly jerks back when Mini Cat calls Nightwing on his attempt at a temporary stall, then grits his teeth when Mini Cat ends up on Nightwing’s back, holding on tight as they grapple the rest of the way to Chinatown.

/\/\/\

They don’t make it back to the Cave until nearly three in the morning. Batman is furious, all tense muscles and tight shoulders. Robin is seething before Batman has even pulled off his cowl. He stomps towards him, hands clenched into fists as his entire body shakes as he tries to keep himself calm.

“Did you know?” he asks Batman, voice low and hard, jaw clenched so tight it hurts, his teeth grinding together.

Batman tugs down his cowl, leaving it to hang around his neck. “Know what?” he asks tightly.

“Don’t do that!” Robin yells, taking a furious step forward, his voice rising. “That’s bullshit an’ we both know it! Did you know that Mini Cat was bein’ abused?!”

Bruce looks down at him, face carefully blank. It just makes Robin even madder. He hears Dick come up behind them, domino already peeled off, even though he’s still in costume. Robin ignores him.

“An’ what he said ‘bout ya knowin’ ‘is name? Is that true? Have ya known who he is the entire damn time?!”

Dick puts a hand on Robin’s shoulder, and when he tries to shrug it off, Dick’s grip only tightens.

“C’mon, Little Wing, step back for a second.”

“Fuck off!”

Dick’s grip turns painful. Robin hisses.

“I’m on your side here,” Dick says, sounding furious. “But yelling at B isn’t going to get us anywhere. It’s just going to piss him off. Calm down.”

Robin draws a sharp breath through his nose. Absently, in the back of his mind, he can hear Alfred’s steady voice.

(“Take a deep breath, Master Jason. There you go. Now hold it and count to eight. There you go, lad. Now let it go. Good. Do it again. Deep breath.”)

He exhales slowly, forcing the air through his teeth. He peels his domino off his face, rubbing at the irritated skin. He takes another deep breath, then another, until his heart rate has slowed and the shaking is confined to his hands.

“There you go,” Dick says gently.

Jason’s not even bothered by the comment. He turns to glare at Bruce.

“Did you know who he was the whole time?” Jason asks, voice oddly steady.

“Yes,” Bruce says.

“Even when I talked to you that first night?”

“Yes.”

Jason feels the familiar rage rise in his chest, but he forces it down. Dick’s hand remains on his shoulder, a steadying force that grounds him.

“How long?”

Dick’s voice surprises him. He glances up at the first Robin, not knowing quite how to feel when he sees the familiar anger written across Dick’s face and seen throughout his entire body.

“Since February,” Bruce says.

Jason’s brain short circuits for a moment. “What the fuck?” he hisses. “What the fuck, Bruce? He hasn’t even been out in the suit that long! It’s fuckin’ August!”

Bruce nods in affirmation. “I noticed Catwoman meeting with a small boy several times throughout the winter. He was not threatened, so I left it be. Their relationship furthered in the spring, and the boy moved in with her in the beginning of April. As far as I am aware, he only began going out as Stray at the end of the school year.”

Dick’s voice is tight. “And you’ve known the boy’s identity this whole time?”

“I didn’t look into his identity, if that’s what you mean. I learned who he was in March, by pure coincidence.”

Dick looks doubtful. Jason scowls.

“Did ya know he was bein’ abused?”

Bruce looks down at him, expression soft. “I assure you, Stray has always been safe.”

“Bullshit!” Jason hisses. “Did ya even hear what he said? ‘You dragged children into your war, but you don’t know what I’ve been fightin’ in mine?’ The whole ‘my house isn’t my home?’ Sounds ta me like Catwoman saved this kid from a shitty homelife.”

“She has taken him in for various reasons,” Bruce says steadily. “And yes, his family situation is one of them. I was unaware how bad it potentially is.”

Jason’s still seething when Dick’s hand leaves his shoulder.

“That’s not our only problem,” he said.

“Whaddya mean?”

Dick’s fingers curl into clenched fists. “That comment he made before they left? When he mentioned the quadruple somersault?”

Jason’s brows furrowed. He’d wondered about that. It hadn’t made much sense, but he’d been too busy thinking about what the boy had said to really be paying attention at that point. He eyes Dick warily as the older man hunches his shoulders in exhaustion and worry.

“What about it?” Bruce asks.

“The quadruple somersault is the signature move of the Flying Grayson’s. As far as I’m aware, we’re the only acrobats who could perform it.”

Jason’s eyes widen in realization, just as Bruce’s narrow into a thin, heated glare.

Jason stares at Dick, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Ya don’t mean…?”

“Yeah.” Dick looks at Bruce straight in the eye. “I’m pretty sure Stray knows exactly who I am.”

“And if he’s smart enough to figure that out…” Jason trails off, a feeling of dread building deep within his belly.

Bruce’s glare is entirely Batman’s as he confirms Jason’s fear.

“It is likely that he has been able to puzzle out the rest of our identities. Selina would likely confirm them if he mentioned them to her.”

The breath is Jason’s air catches in his throat, leaving him feeling like he’s just been knocked flat on his back by Bane himself as he whispers, “Oh shit.”

/\/\/\

After a hot shower that leaves his skin red and burning and a fitful four hours of sleep, Jason hauls himself out of bed and does what he does best when he’s so antsy that he can’t focus.

He runs.

He takes his normal five-mile route, stops to drink half a bottle of water, then does another three. It’s been an hour, and he’s panting, covered in sweat as mud crawls up his legs from where he ran through one of the trails.

Jason’s coming up the last stretch of the main road before he turns onto the manor’s street. He’s slowed to a light job, letting himself cool down as his muscles cramp. He’s rounding the street corner, staying close to the curb to avoid any morning traffic. It’s a blind turn, and he’s already been almost hit more than once. Just as Jason makes it onto his street, he sees something that’s tugging his brows up past his hairline.

There’s a motorcycle he doesn’t recognize pulling up to the gate blocking off Drake Manor from the main road. Upon a closer look, Jason’s eyes go wide. Sitting on the back of the bike, is a small boy who looks just like Tim. He’s wearing a helmet that covers his head and face and a lightweight riding jacket, but he’s about Tim’s size. The person driving looks like a young woman, and she easily punches in the gate code before pulling up the long driveway, the gate swinging shit behind them.

Jason watches them go until the disappear. He purses his lips and heads back to the manor. He goes in through the backdoor, where Alfred won’t kill him for the little bit of mud his shoes drag in. Jason throws his shoes to the side and pads upstairs to his bedroom, slinking around the corners so that no one will see him.

Dick is probably still sleeping, but Bruce is a wildcard. He could be knocked out in bed or up at the Batcomputer and there’s no way to be sure. But Jason wants to avoid him, so he softens his footfalls until he’s in the safety of his room. Even Bruce knows better than to go in there uninvited.

Jason knocks the door shut behind him, rolling his shoulders and sinking to the floor to stretch out. He moves himself through each of his stretches, wincing when his legs shake from exhaustion. He spends a solid twenty minutes on the floor, stretching mostly his legs, but his hips, back, and arms as well. When he’s done, his body feels much better, loose from the lack of its regular tension. His limbs are numb in a shaky kind of way, and he feels a bit like he’s walking on air.

Jason pulls a set of clean clothes from his dresses and heads to his bathroom. He sets his clothes on the counter and turns the shower up to full heat. Steam almost instantly begins to fill the room, curling against the glass of the mirror. Jason strips out of his sweat soaked shorts and cutoff, dropping them in a dirty pile on the floor. He’ll put them in the hamper when he’s clean.

The hot water feels like heaven against his skin. It eases the last of the tension out of his shoulder and neck, and Jason feels himself relaxing. He slumps forward, eyes closing as he sucks in a deep breath. The hot shower reminds him of just how tired he really is.

Jason lathers shampoo into his hair, scrubbing his nails harshly against his scalp. He can’t help but think about Tim and the woman on the motorcycle.

In what world does Tim Drake ride with an unknown woman on a motorcycle?

In what world does said woman know the access codes to Drake Manor?

Jason guesses that it boils down to the undeniable fact that Tim Drake is an odd kid.

Not in a bad way, of course. But he’s an odd kid. He’s crazy smart, and not just smart enough to skip a few grades as a kid. He’s smart enough to be reading the same coding textbook that Barbara read in her first computer science course at Gotham University. He reads about physics for fun, and even if he has normal hobbies like photography, Tim Drake is just an odd kid.

Blinking water out of his eyes, Jason wonders if ‘odd kid’ is enough to explain everything that is Tim Drake.

/\/\/\

The next day, Jason comes down for breakfast, rubbing a hand through his messy hair, and is utterly shocked to see Bruce sitting at the dining room table, drinking coffee as he flips through a file. Jason blinks, mouth opening, then closing. He goes to say something, then shakes his head and sits down, thinking better of it.

Alfred comes in a moment later, carrying a tray with oatmeal and juice. He’s gone a moment later, with only a “Good morning, Master Jason” and a tray of food proving he was there.

Jason blinks, then decides that he really needs to get more sleep.

He rubs absently at his eyes and spoons oatmeal into his mouth. Alfred must have taken pity on him, because he added both honey and brown sugar when he normally only allows Jason to have one or the other.

Jason steadily ignores Bruce, focusing on his breakfast and ignoring the heavy silence that hangs over them. They’re both stubborn mules, so this goes on for several minutes until a sleepy Dick stumbles into the room, socked feet sliding against the old hardwood floors. He plops down at his typical seat at the table, muffling a yawn with his fist.

Alfred—who must have a sixth sense for when someone enters the kitchen or dining room—is out a moment later, placing a bowl of cereal in front of Dick and whisking himself away before Dick’s joyous “Thank you!” has even left his lips.

“What are you still doing here?”

Dick blinks at him, cheeks full of that disgusting, sugary abomination that he calls breakfast. He swallows, then frowns.

“That’s not very nice,” he says.

“I’m very sorry,” Jason replies, not feeling very sorry at all.

Dick huffs and rolls his eyes, shoving another bite of cereal into his mouth and chewing loudly. “I’m going to stick around for a little while.”

“Why—”

“Jason,” Bruce cuts him off, “Dick is here to keep an eye on the Stray situation and to recover from a taxing mission before he arrived here.”

Dick hums in acknowledgment.

Jason frowns and chomps down on his oatmeal, shoving away any hopeful thoughts he might have about Dick actually treating him like a brother or accepting him as Robin. It’s easier to accept it now rather than get hurt later.

“Whatever.”

Jason stands, picking up his bowl and getting ready to take it to Alfred and talk with him to stop himself from exploding before it happens. Bruce stops him by clearing his throat.

“The Wayne’s will be making an appearance tonight.”

Dick jerks his head to the side to stare at Bruce, cheeks bulging with the amount of cereal he has stuffed in his mouth.

Jason snarls. “You really think now is the right time to go out and play Brucie Wayne? Really?”

“We have not had a public outing in several months. Since March, I believe. There is a restaurant opening tonight, and I just received a last-minute invitation. It will do well for the three Wayne’s to appear together, especially since Dick has been out of town for so long.”

Jason turns to glare at Dick. “And you’re just okay with this?”

“I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you, Little Wing.” Dick shrugs. “And good food is good food.”

“The food at those stupid ass expensive restaurants sucks.”

Dick snorts. “Maybe, but the drinks are usually good.”

Bruce levels him with a glare. “You are not twenty-one.”

Dick merely smiles.

/\/\/\

That night, Jason gets wrestled into a suit, stuffed into the town car, and thrust into a small crowd of paparazzi covering the opening of some stupid fancy restaurant. He does his best not to scowl because Alfred promised him that if he holds his tongue for the night, he’ll make his special brownies.

Dick waves to the camera, smiles and walks in such a way that they’ll be able to snap wonderful photos to plaster on the covers of their articles. Bruce becomes Brucie Wayne, laughing loudly and slinging an arm around Jason’s shoulder and tugging him against his side. The only reason Jason doesn’t shove him off is because the position Brucie is holding him in hides his face from the majority of the cameras.

As soon as the host hears their names, she smiles and says, “Oh, Mr. Wayne, it’s an honor. I’ll seat you right away and bring out a complementary sample of our appetizers.”

Bruce thanks her loudly and profusely, and once they’re seated in a booth on the second floor, he hands her a hundred dollar bill.

“Thank you for your time,” he says with a wink.

The host’s cheeks burn, and she mumbles out her thanks before returning to the front of the restaurant. Jason wants to disappear into his seat and only come out when it’s time to go home. He hardly understands anything on the menu because it’s all written in French, and Jason’s a street kid from goddamn Crime Alley. He speaks basic Spanish from his time on the streets, but fancy French is just not something Jason can do.

Thankfully, Dick notices his distress and gives him an understanding smile. He tells him what tends to be good in these kinds of places, then walks him through how to say it so he doesn’t stumble over the words when he orders. Thankfully, French is similar enough to Spanish that he can roll the words off his tongue.

Bruce looks impressed and it sends a jolt of happiness through Jason.

He sips at his soda and finds comfort in the fact that it’s the same kind of soda he would get if he stopped by Nena’s after patrol.

He’s halfway through his glass, only half listening to Brucie Wayne’s conversation with Dick about his ‘vacation’ in Nova Scotia with his friends when Jason sees a new family being led in by the host from before.

A tall man, dressed in a crisp charcoal suit with neatly combed dark hair alongside a woman in a semi-formal royal blue dress that makes the familiar blue of her eyes absolutely pop.

Jason shoots up in his seat, fast enough that Bruce sends him a look from the corner of his eyes. Jason ignores him, stomach clenching when he sees that the man has a hand gripping a small boy’s shoulder.

He instantly recognizes that the boy is Timothy Drake, heir of Drake Industries; not nerdy, photographer Tim who studies hacking in his free time. (Yes, hacking. If he’s actually coding like he says he is, Jason will eat his shoe.) His shoulders are completely straight, and though he tries to look relaxed, Jason can see the tension that runs through his entire body. Tim’s in his own mini suit, the same charcoal as his father’s, with his usually messy hair slicked back with gel.

Jason watches as they’re seated across the aisle from his own table. Timothy Drake moves nothing like the Tim Jason knows. His stride is confident and smooth, and he holds himself high, whereas Tim usually hunches into himself as though he’s trying to look even smaller than he already is. He’s still quiet, but Jason knows that it’s because his parents expect it of him, not because he’s shy.

Jason tries to catch his eye, and he does, for a moment, but then Tim’s shaking his head, a small enough movement that no one would notice unless they were looking. Then Tim looks away and doesn’t look back for the rest of the night.

Jason sips his soda to hide his frown, something unpleasant curling in his gut as his fingers go dangerously tight against his glass.

(And if Robin punches a few bad guys harder than necessary that night on patrol, well, no one has to know.)

/\/\/\

School starts again two weeks later, and Robin’s new school night curfew is eleven thirty.

He doesn’t see Stray again until October.

It doesn’t go how he expects.

/\/\/\

It’s been a slow night, but it’s Friday, which means that Robin can stay out as long as he likes. He feels like a bird in a cage during the school week, and he doesn’t want to give up any time he can get on the streets. School is beyond boring, and his classmates and teachers alike still look down on him and talk behind his back when some of his Gotham drawl makes it into his speech.

So, yeah, Robin will take anything he can get at this point, even if that means escorting a drunk girl home and awkwardly patting her back when she bursts into tears at the sight of an adoption ad on a billboard. Once the girl is safely inside her apartment with the door locked, Robin jumps out the hallways window and grapples to the next roof over.

The cold air is sharp against his skin, and he can tell that it’s going to be one of those winters full of icy snow and bitter wind from all the waterways that run through Gotham.

Robin doesn’t shiver, instead diving head first into the wind and enjoying the way his cape flutters behind him. He’s never been one for tricks in the sky. That’s always been Nightwing, while Robin is a brawler through and through. But tonight, he allows himself to enjoy some flips between roofs and lets a few onlookers catch blurry pictures with their phones.

Before long, his mood is lifting and Robin suddenly doesn’t feel as weighed down as before.

The feeling doesn’t last long, as once he makes his quick run through East End, he spies a small figure sitting on the edge of a roof, feet swinging back and forth below them as they stare off into the distance.

Robin recognizes the stupid cat ears instantly.

Stray hasn’t been seen since the confrontation with Batman nearly two and half months ago.

Robin swings through East End at least once every night, checking to see if he can catch sight of Mini Cat. He worries. Worries about the threat that is Stray’s homelife, worries that Batman knows who he is under the hood and goggles, worries that Batman scared him away from Catwoman, and therefore the woman who seemingly has taken him in and protected him.

So, he doesn’t waste anytime making his way across rooftops, dropping onto the roof of a small Ma and Pa burger joint that Nightwing swears has the best mint ice cream in the history of ice cream.

He knows that Stray hears him, but the boy doesn’t say anything, doesn’t acknowledge that he’s no longer alone. He just keeps swinging his feet, leaning back on the palms of his hands. Robin drops down to sit next to him.

“Been awhile,” he says, when Mini Cat still doesn’t look at him.

“I thought you’d be happy about that.”

Robin frowns. He knows exactly why the boy would think that and it makes guilt crawl up his throat. “Nah,” he says. “Once I cooled off, I realized that you’re not all that bad.”

Stray huffs. Robin can’t tell if it’s in annoyance or amusement.

“You been okay?” he asks gently. “You were gone for a while.”

Stray finally looks at him, though only from the corner of his eye, behind where he’s hidden by his goggles. He doesn’t tense up or draw a breath. Instead, he sighs and looks up at the sky.

“Family stuff.”

Robin looks at him, gaze calculating, looking for any signs of injury or distress. He doesn’t relax even when he finds none. Stray ignores his obvious stare, still looking up at the sky, even though Gotham never sees the stars.

“They hurt you?”

“Not any more than usual,” Stray says with a wry grin.

Robin’s expression darkens at the blasé tone and the total uncaring nature of Stray when there’s obviously something wrong. Stray must get tired of him look because he finally meets Robin’s gaze. His shoulders slump the tiniest bit.

“They don’t hurt me in the way you’re thinking.”

Robin gnashes his teeth. “But they are hurting you?”

Stray shrugs. “In their own way,” he admits before looking back to the smog filled sky. “I’m fed, I’m clothed. The only bruises I have are the ones I get from being out here or tripping over my own two feet when I’m missing the ears and the whip.”

Robin snorts despite himself. “Abuse comes in many different forms,” he says.

“I’m aware.”

“Are you really?”

Stray looks back at him, lips pressed into a line. “Neglect, emotional abuse through unachievable high expectations and guilt tripping.” He gives Robin the same dry, flat grin as before. “Trust me, I’m aware.”

They sit quietly for several minutes. Stray looks to the sky and swings his feet. Robin slumps forward and stares into the distance, in the direction of Crime Alley, his first home.

“That why Catwoman took you in?”

“She liked that I was smart too. Cat found me through my parents, but she decided to keep me for other reasons.”

“Oh?”

Stray shrugs once again. “She didn’t realize how bad it was until I caught the flu and spent eight days in a fever-induced haze with no one knowing.”

Rage sweeps through Robin like a wildfire. “What the fuck, Mini Cat?”

An amused grin finds its way onto Stray’s cheeks. “What did you just call me?”

“Nuh uh,” says Robin harshly. “No switchin’ the subject on me like that. What the fuck do ya mean ya spent eight days alone when ya had the goddamn flu bad enough ya were down for the count?”

“You heard me.”

Robin snarls. “Yeah, and I wanna know why.”

Stray’s face smooths over, and even with his goggles it’s easy to see that he’s sliding into a mask to protect himself. The pieces start to fall together, and Robin feels a chill crawl down his spine.

_It can’t be._

“My parents travel a lot. They’re only home in between business obligations and when they need to make an appearance for the society. The housekeeper who checks on me had the week off for her daughter’s wedding. I got sick. No one knew. Cat got worried when she didn’t see me around and came to check up on me. The rest is history.”

Robin is silent. He feels like every part of his body is tingling with nerves and fear and realization. He hates the way his stomach churns and his spine feels like it’s covered with spiders. Hates the way his fingers have suddenly gone stiff from clutching onto the edge of the roof too tight.

It takes time, but eventually he finds his voice (his courage) and asks, “Tim?”

Stray smiles, small and sweet and utterly familiar. A wave of emotion crashes over Robin when he sees Tim Drake’s smile. The one he gets when talking about physics and photography and coding (hacking), the one that people rarely see, and only if he wants them too.

“Wow,” Tim says, pushing his goggles up onto the top of his head. “Didn’t even double check that I actually knew your identity, Jason.”

Familiar blue eyes stare at him, unblinking and impossibly bright in the night. Jason’s mouth feels dry, his tongue thick.

“Nightwing explained what your little threat actually meant on that rooftop. Wasn’t a hard guess to assume you knew who the rest of us were.”

Tim hums, noncommittedly. They sit there in silence for several long minutes, until the chill has begun to seep into their bones and make their toes go numb.

“You really okay?” Jason asks.

Tim bumps Jason’s shoulder with his own. “Cat takes care of me. I only go back to the manor when my parents are in town, and the rest of the time I stay with Cat. She took me in before she even decided to give me a mask.”

Jason whistles, impressed. “Always knew there was somethin’ about ya,” he says. Then, “Wait. Does Catwoman ever drop ya off at the manor on her motorcycle.”

Tim raises a brow. “Occasionally. She stopped being sneaky after the conversation with Bats because she knew for sure that he was aware of who I am.” A second of silence before Tim laughed. “And when’d you decide that there was ‘something about me?’ At the gala or when you almost broke my nose?”

“Hey! I did not almost break your nose! You said so yourself!”

Tim waves a hand. “Semantics.”

Jason laughs and shakes his head. “I knew ya were smart soon as ya opened ya mouth at the gala, but I didn’t start thinkin’ too hard bout it ‘til that day in the library.”

“Ah. I was off that day.”

“Yeah?” Jason remembers his patrol that night, after his argument with Barbara and the event that confirmed that they were calling in Nightwing to stage an intervention. Jason winces, feeling guilty. “That was the night you had that panic attack, right? Behind the antique shop?”

He swears to himself when he realizes that Tim didn’t actually know he was there at the time.

But Tim hums, seemingly unbothered. “Yeah. My parents told me they were coming home early that morning, which is why I was off at the library. I have my goggles hooked up to let me know when they try and get in touch with me, that way I don’t miss something that I can’t. I got a message from them while out with Cat saying that we’d be making a public appearance and I’d begin taking on more DI responsibilities.”

Jason glowers. “You’re eleven.”

“Tell that to them.”

Jason releases a deep breath. “’M sorry, kid.”

“Not your fault.” Tim shivers, rubbing at his arms through his suit. “Want to go get some hot chocolate to warm it? Won’t be as good as Cat’s, but I know a stand a few streets away.”

Jason nods, ignoring his own goosebumps. “Lead the way,” he says, getting to his feet.

Tim laughs and pushes himself up, pulling his goggles back over his eyes. Jason notices with amusement that Tim still doesn’t reach his shoulders, even while wearing boots. They begin making their way across the rooftops of East End, Tim staying slightly ahead of Jason as he navigates them through the city.

As they jump past a neon sign that sets Tim’s skin aglow with pink and blue light, Jason can’t help but ask.

“How’d you even meet Catwoman anyway?”

“Oh,” says Tim. “She broke into my house to steal an artifact.”

It takes half a second for the words to sink in.

“What?!”

Tim’s laugh carries into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Update: So I finally got a Tumblr. It's painfully empty, but I love new friends, so hit me up if you ever want to chat. I love chatting about writing (both my works, WIPs, and just in general) and other random stuff. Find me at hey-its-lyn if you're interested.


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